


To Live or Die in Moscow

by CherryEmbly



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Because Angst Makes Fluff Fluffier, Can't Be Anymore Obvious Viktor, Cute, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy, Love, M/M, Self-Conscious Yuuri, Viktuuri Sweetness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 19:42:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8766448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryEmbly/pseuds/CherryEmbly
Summary: Yuuri reflects on his time in Russia.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It's one-shot Monday and I present to you Yuuri STILL doubting himself. 
> 
> Written regarding episodes 8 & 9\. Dialogue is similar to the dialogue in those episodes, but I deliberately went based on memory rather than writing it verbatim, because stories are never retold exactly as they happened.

“…and thank you for choosing us. We hope you enjoy your time here in Tokyo or wherever your travels take you today. In a moment we will begin the deboarding process. Please move quickly as some passengers have connecting…” 

Yuuri sighed as he stared out the window. He decided to wait for everyone to climb off the plane first so he didn’t have to battle with other passengers. He was far too exhausted to do so. Mentally, physically, but most of all, emotionally. The sun was only just coming up for the day as Yuuri had opted for as early a flight to get him home as possible. Streaks of yellow shot out into the fading blue darkness. Yuuri watched the tarmac workers below, shuffle bags about, flag other planes into stalls, and scurry about with a host of other tasks. He watched them, but didn’t focus on them. Honestly, his mind was elsewhere. Mostly on how happy he was to be back in Japan. 

His trip to Russia had been… interesting.

***

“Oh, look! There’s Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki!” 

Viktor let out a disgruntled sigh. “Well, it was bound to happen.” 

Yuuri and Viktor had just arrived at the hotel where they’d be staying and, much like the entire journey from the airport to the hotel, news reporters, fans and photographers had been following Viktor non-stop. It was the Russian blond’s first trip home since he left for Japan to become Yuuri’s coach. News headlines were already calling it ‘the Russian Prince’s homecoming.’ Viktor didn’t seem to mind a whole lot, he always had been one to service his fans thoroughly, but Yuuri could barely stand to be around it. 

“I’m going up to my room,” Yuuri huffed to Viktor, earning him a crystal blue side-glance of concern. 

“Okay,” Viktor replied. “I’ll text you when I get rid of them and we can go eat.” 

Yuuri nodded. He didn’t want that either. He was feeling tapped out and didn’t want to be in public anymore. He slipped away from the onslaught of reporters shoving microphones and cameras into Viktor’s face, and scurried away, because he know what they were all asking. 

‘When are you returning to skating?’

‘Are you really going to stay Yuuri’s coach?’

‘Do you miss Russia?’

‘Are you ready to compete again?’ 

Maybe Viktor was used to them, and he always seemed to have a transparent answer that never confirmed nor denied his feelings about them, but the questions felt like being stabbed to Yuuri. They served as a painful reminder. Each time a competition comes and goes; each time he skates his Eros and On Ice routines; each day that passes, brings him closer to the inevitable. 

Viktor _was_ going to come back to Russia eventually. 

Viktor _was_ just a coach after all. 

Viktor _was_ going to leave Yuuri soon. 

Those facts, were more painful than anything. 

Yuuri walked down the hallways of the hotel, marble covered floors and red and black, checkerboard stone walls, in the direction of the elevators. He felt so different from how he’d felt in China where he was anxious but excited. Yuuri didn’t like being in Russia. He didn’t like being in the place where Viktor’s biggest fans lived. He didn’t like seeing the way Viktor breathed in a sigh of relief as they climbed off the plane, grinning happily to be ‘home.’ Yuuri wanted to turn back time. To go and get stuck somewhere between the Viktor’s first arrival, and his shocking kiss in China. He wanted to simply play those days on repeat and never be subjected to the blaring reminders of Viktor’s leaving again. 

That’s what Yuuri wished for, and it was a stupid wish that would never come true. 

He pressed the button for the elevator, listening as the soft murmur from the lobby erupted into a series of louder, yet still indistinguishable, hums of excitement. Had Viktor said something to rouse them?

A man, only slightly shorter than Yuuri, with black hair and a stern look walked up and stood next to Yuuri in silence. A quick glance over and Yuuri was able to confirm who it was. 

_It’s Seung-Gil from Korea…_

To make the way he already felt about being in Russia worse, Yuuri didn’t have any skaters competing in the Rostelecom that he was friendly with. He really only knew Yurio, but they were acquaintances at best, and Yurio didn’t seem to care for him much. 

The elevator dinged, and the golden doors slid open. The three people already on the elevator were all chattering loudly. One of the skaters, a man Yuuri recognized as the Italian skater Michele 'Mickey' Crispino, was yelling at another, whom Yuuri had met on a couple of occasions prior, Emil Nikola from the Czech-Republic. 

“Hi, Yuuri!” a sweet voice greeted him and left him a little surprised. A beautiful woman with lavender eyes matching Mickey’s approached him with a friendly smile on her face. 

“SALA!” Mickey barked. 

Oh. Yuuri had never met her before, but knew Mickey had a twin sister named Sala that he always cited as the source of his inspiration in his interviews. Looking at her and knowing who she was, Yuuri had seen a picture or two of her. She was a skater too. The top female in Italy, and Yuuri couldn’t remember exactly where, but she had placed in the women’s Grand Prix the year prior. 

“Hi, Seung-Gil. Do you want to come out to dinner with Em--” 

“No.” Yuuri winced as Seung-Gil shot the beautiful woman down with no remorse. 

“Hey! If you’re going to turn a woman down, shouldn’t you be gentler?” Sala squealed as Seung-Gil passed her by to enter the elevator. 

The serious raven stopped and faced her with a piercing gaze. “Do I gain something out of having a friendship with you?”

Both Mickey and Sala went into enraged outbursts then and Yuuri, who just wanted to get up to his room, slunk away from the group to a partner elevator opening to let off other guests. He slipped on to the elevator and sighed as the doors began to close. He was in no mood to be around such a rambunctious group. 

Just before the doors met one another, a foot jutted out to stop it and the doors slid back open. “What are you doing sneaking around for?” a familiar, harsh voice hissed at him. 

“Oh, Yurio…” Yuuri greeted, not unaware of the malcontent slotted behind the innocent green eyes of the other. “Good to see you.” Yurio offered no response. 

The two rode the elevator up in awkward silence until Yuuri decided to offer a phrase of good luck, if anything, to break the silence. 

“Huh?” Yurio spat back. “What are you talking about? I’m going to crush you and have Viktor stay here in Russia.” 

There it was again. 

A stinging reminder. 

Yurio and Yuuri had each placed second in their qualifiers, but there was no telling how Yurio’s programs compared to Yuuri’s. What if he did beat him? If Viktor’s goal was to coach someone to win the Grand Prix final and Yurio showed more promise than Yuuri, blended into the fact that Viktor could coach Yurio from the comfort of his home country, isn’t that what the champion skater turned coach would want? 

Yuuri returned to silence. Briefly, the disruption of the other skaters had pulled his mind from the ever present turning of his stomach since they’d first arrived in Russia, but with Yurio’s threat it was back stronger than before. Yuuri wanted nothing more than to get behind a door where no one could see him, crawl into bed and go to sleep. 

The elevator stopped on the 8th floor and Yuuri made his way forward with relief. He didn’t turn to say anything in the way of parting words to Yurio. It wasn’t as though he hated him or anything, but he was another of the harsh stones being tossed at Yuuri’s glass heart. 

“Good luck to you too." 

Yuuri stopped and looked back over his shoulder, but the doors were already closing to hide Yurio from sight. Yuuri stood still for a few moments in shock. What was that all of a sudden after such a harsh threat? 

Yuuri actually jumped a little when his phone started buzzing in his hand. He unlocked it and went into his texts where a tiny, blue circle with a ‘1’ in it, sat next to Viktor’s name. 

_‘Finally got rid of them. Shall we go eat?’_

The message was paired with a winking emoji and was so very Viktor and it hurt. Another text closer. Another minute closer. Yuuri scrolled through the emoji and cartoon ridden texts between he and Viktor as he slowly made his way to his hotel room, and he chuckled sadly. He was going to miss getting stupid, flirty texts from Viktor. 

Yuuri finally reached the tan door with gold embossed numbers matching his room key, and he pulled out the small white and blue card and slid it into the card reader. With a quiet click, the card reader recognized his card, and Yuuri entered his room. The maroon carpet bled into the beige walls with chocolate decals and intended to communicate warmth. The single king sized bed with pristine white covers and pillows looked comfortable enough to swallow a person whole, and to entice guests to order room service, a set of champagne glasses sat on a table by the window with a tan card that read ‘Welcome to Moscow! Enjoy a drink on us!’ in purple leaning against them. Though a drink didn’t sound half bad to Yuuri, with all the intended hospitality and coziness of the room surrounding him, he suddenly became very aware of how cold he was and not the kind of cold that can be cured with blankets or sweatshirts. 

His phone buzzed again. 

_‘Everything okay?’_

That’s right. Yuuri hadn’t replied to Viktor’s first text. He quickly typed a response that he hoped would be sufficient to keep his coach at bay for now. 

_‘Fine, sorry. I’m tired now. Can we eat later?’_

Yuuri simply sat and stared down at his phone, developing slight anxiety when the three ‘typing’ ellipses appeared. 

_‘Understood. I’ll be up in a minute.’_

Yuuri dropped his head in defeat. That’s not what he was hoping for. With everything going on the way it was, Yuuri didn’t want to be near Viktor. 

Well, no. That wasn’t it. 

Yuuri always wanted to be near Viktor. 

But the pain of knowing he couldn’t always be, was hard, and made sharing space with the embodied dream too difficult. 

_‘I’m just going to sleep. So you can go to your room if you want.’_ Yuuri typed back, even though he had a suspicion about how it would go. 

_‘822 right?’_

Yuuri whined. It was no use. _‘Right.’_

He trudged into the room sadly, taking deep even breaths and preparing himself to be near the man who made his heart race harder and faster than any competition ever did. The man who juggled around Yuuri’s emotions until he was no longer sure which way was up and which was down. The man who he was just simply and undeniably in love with. 

He had gotten his gray hoodie off and was digging through his suitcases that had been delivered to his room, when there was a quiet knock on the door. Yuuri took a deep breath in, held it for a few seconds, and then expended it through his nose. He crossed to the door, quickly opening it, and then turning away. The less he looked at Viktor the better. 

Of course, not having seen his face didn’t keep his emotions from welling up when a pair of strong arms wrapped around his torso half a second later. 

“Yuuri.” 

Yuuri ground his teeth into the inside of his cheek, biting back the emotions the single word stirred. Why didn’t Viktor realize hearing him say his name was like having a hole punched through his chest? Why couldn’t he see that when he touched him, his heart began to betray his mind and yearn for him? 

“What’s wrong?” 

Yuuri knew he should peel himself away from the other, but couldn’t bring himself to. If people have happy places where none of the harshness of the real world existed, wrapped in Viktor’s arms was Yuuri’s and the earlier coldness was rapidly replacing itself with a heat that made him innately happy. 

“Wr-wrong? Nothing.” Yuuri spurted back unconvincingly. 

“You told me you were tired, but you slept almost the entire flight. You would only lie to me if something was wrong.” 

Yuuri was frustrated at the explanation. How did Viktor know so much more about him than he knew about Viktor? 

“I’m fine. Really.”

_How badly do you miss Russia?_

“I think I just feel tired before competitions in general.”

 _Why did you choose me?_

“Probably just the anxiety of it all.” 

_Will you be gentle when you leave me behind?_

“I was just going to try and sleep more anyway. So you don’t need to be here.” 

_For you it will just be saying goodbye to a friend…_

“I promise I’ll call you to eat in a few hours.” 

_…but for me, it'll be heartbreak._

Viktor’s arms pulled tighter around Yuuri. “Yuuri,” Viktor said again, in the same piercing way that melted him to the bone and sent chills up his spine. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Yuuri’s emotions pushed over and he swore internally at himself as the wetness of his pain gathered in the corners of his eyes. He didn’t want to cry in front of Viktor again. He didn’t want him to think he was too weak to handle anything. After his, what could only be considered an emotional breakdown, back in China, he vowed never to do that again. Yet there he was, just a few days later. Lacking confidence and feeling too emotional to contain it and he wished Viktor couldn’t see him. He didn’t want Viktor to know. He didn’t want to cause any more trouble. 

“It’s okay to feel worried about your programs,” Viktor comforted. “Talk to me about it. That’s what a coach is for.” 

“Y-yeah,” Yuuri fed into it. “I keep feeling like I’ve peaked already.” Yuuri let his tears flow freely under the guise. 

Viktor let out a small chuckle. “I kept feeling like that too,” Viktor admitted, “but you continue to surprise me. I’m sure this will be no different.” 

Viktor was kind. How easy would it be for someone like him to be spoiled and selfish and rude, but instead he was a gentle spirit with a heart of gold. It was the only benefit to this scenario that was inevitably going to end in a crushing blow to Yuuri’s heart. He got to know Viktor’s kindness. He got to experience the man and not just the skater. An opportunity some would kill for. 

Yuuri didn’t say anything else and simply rested into the hold of the other. If Viktor was leaving soon anyway, didn’t it make more sense to enjoy him while he still had him?

“Thank you, Viktor,” Yuuri whispered. 

“No,” Viktor responded, nuzzling his head into Yuuri’s. “Thank you.”

*** 

When Viktor and Yuuri stepped out into plain view of the audience, resounding and deafening applause and screams met them. Yuuri looked behind him, temporarily shocked as his career has never afforded him that many adoring fans, but what he saw when he looked was like a stab to the chest. Posters of Viktor and signs with his name painted on. 

Of course. They were in Russia. 

It was an entire section of fans who’d showed up simply to see Viktor, if only just as a coach. 

“Lean here, Yuuri, and I’ll check that your skates are tied well,” Viktor said, ignoring the fans. 

Yuuri did as he was told, leaning against the barrier, and Viktor crouched down, and retied the laces on his skates. Yuuri watched him closely, doing his best to tune out the crowd as well. He was meticulous and, in Yuuri’s opinion, spending way too much time. As if reading his mind, Viktor suddenly looked up, a sly look on his face and Yuuri gasped lightly. What the hell was that? Viktor helped him to the ice, knelt to remove his skate guards, and then did it again, tossing a teasing look up at Yuuri. 

What was going on?

Yuuri skated along the barrier a few feet, waiting patiently with Viktor across from him as he usually did. He was dressed handsomely in his Eros costume, but didn’t feel very Eros. He was still feeling the effects of the emotional tsunami that was his arrival in Russia, and he didn’t have the confidence he needed to tap into his Eros for the program. 

That’s when Viktor gave him a third, playful glance and then turned away from him, dramatically and gleefully greeting the crowd. The group erupted, chanting his name loudly as though Yuuri wasn’t the one who was about to perform. He looked up at them and from somewhere deep within him, a jealous and possessive demon shot to the surface. He reached forward angrily, and took Viktor’s sleek black tie into his fist and pulled. Viktor’s head whipped around and the his section of fans silenced immediately in what may well be Yuuri’s proudest moment to date. 

With Viktor’s eyes locked in his own, Yuuri smiled uncharacteristically devilishly. “The performance has already begun, Viktor.” _But you knew that. This is what you wanted._ He leaned in, bringing their faces close enough, that anyone without a good angle would have no idea if they were kissing or not. “Don’t worry. I’ll show my love to all of Russia.” Challenge accepted. 

Despite Yuuri’s embarrassment as he skated out to center ice, he knew his coach had, yet again, whipped his emotions up on command. He was overcome with the desire to prove to everyone that Viktor was his and his alone. It wasn’t just Viktor’s fans either. Yuuri could see the collective scowls coming from the section of fans dedicated to Yurio. Yuuri had beaten him once before and was determined to do it again. 

Put simply: More people hated Yuuri in Russia, than anywhere else in the world. 

Striking his first pose, Yuuri drank in the applause from his own fans and ice skating fans in general who didn’t know any better. 

_They think I care that they hate me?_

The familiar strum of the flamenco guitar in the beginning of Yuuri’s’ piece filled the auditorium and he sprang to life. A spin around, then Yuuri struck his second pose. He blew a kiss, filled with arrogance and Eros in the direction of Viktor’s torrid fans. 

_Who’s the one he’s got his eyes on now? He left you behind and came to me. Don’t forget that._

***

Gentle flakes of white drifted down onto Yuuri as he watched the cars bustling by. The snowy, Russian night was so beautiful that it didn’t bother Yuuri that he was terribly cold. Somehow he always felt cold when Viktor wasn’t around, why not at least enjoy the beautiful night? Yuuri looked up at the few stars he could make out through the glow of the city. 

Somehow, competing without Viktor at his side felt bizarre to Yuuri, even though he’d done it every season prior to Viktor’s arrival. It was strange trying to remember what it was like before Viktor. How was it possible for someone to just waltz into a life and change it so severely that even memories of the past got skewed? 

That’s what Viktor had done to Yuuri. 

That’s why, after having a snapshot of what his life was like without Viktor by his side, Yuuri knew he had no choice by to stay with Viktor whether he wanted him there or not. 

He wanted the Grand Prix gold so badly now that there was so much riding on it, but looking back, Viktor always won gold. He always took gold and was such a talented skater that people came to expect that he would win. Amazing skaters like Chris and J.J. based their careers off of beating Viktor. That’s the kind of competitor Viktor was. Yuuri could no longer deny that it was a shame for Viktor not to be skating and if even a small part of Viktor wanted to return to skating, Yuuri refused to hold him back. 

So he would compete until the end of the season, and god willing, he would take gold. He would make Viktor step down as his coach and then… 

A sharp kick to the arm snapped Yuuri out of his thoughts and sent him crashing to the fluffy white on the pavement below. He looked up to see his rival standing above him, hair no longer tied back into the braid of his free program, a blue jacket donned and a black hoodie beneath with the hood up; typical Yurio. 

“There you are, Katsudon. You made me look for you,” he hissed. Why would Yurio be looking for him? “What the hell was that earlier? You creeped me out. Besides, what was with your free skate?” Was he lecturing Yuuri? “You at least can make the excuse that you didn’t do your best because Viktor wasn’t there. I was in top form, shattered by personal best, and still lost to J.J.. So you don’t get to mope around and be more upset than me.” Not lecturing. Comforting. 

Yuuri was already confused, but then Yurio tossed the brown paper bag in his hand down to Yuuri’s lap. Yuuri didn’t respond at first, leaving only the hiss of cars driving by to soundtrack the encounter. 

“Here,” Yurio said suddenly, looking away as he did so. “It’s almost your birthday right?”

Who was this Yurio? Why did he know it was almost his birthday and why was he giving him a gift? Yuuri opened the bag, crinkling much louder in the calm, and saw that there were piroshkis inside. “Piroshkis?” Yuuri asked. 

“Eat it.” 

“Right now?” Yuuri asked. 

“Eat!” Yurio barked, reminding Yuuri that he was Yurio after all. 

As he pulled one out, tucking the bag with the remainders in his arm, a small smile gathered on Yurio’s face. It wasn’t the evil one he’d seen many times that might make Yuuri fear he was being poisoned, it was gleeful, almost proud. Yuuri pulled his face mask down around his neck and took a bite. 

There were some unexpected textures. “There’s rice in here,” Yuuri bit into a tender and well cooked piece of pork, “and pork,” something salty and gooey, “and eggs.” The taste was wonderful and gave Yuuri an unexpected burst of nostalgia as the seasoned goodness danced across his taste buds. Then it hit him as he swallowed. “It’s a katsudon!” 

“Isn’t it great?” Yurio said in a light, very teenage voice that Yuuri had never heard before. “My grandpa made them.” 

“Yeah!” Yuuri agreed, mood improving exponentially. “They’re vkusno!” Vkusno? More of the areas Viktor had bled into Yuuri’s body seeping out again. He took another bite as his handsome coach came rushing back into his mind. “Say, Yurio.”

“Hm?” Yurio leaned over the rail where Yuuri had been contemplating his life moments ago. 

“You beat me, so… Are you going to ask Viktor to come back to Russia?” Yuuri asked. 

The glow of the arena and the snow drifting around him, backdropped Yurio’s face, half-hidden by his blond hair, perfectly. The one green eye he could see shot him a quick glance, and then his lips curved into a soft smile. “Don’t be stupid, Katsudon.” Yurio kicked one of his leopard print sneakers into the snow. “Viktor wouldn’t come back here even if I cried and begged.”

“Huh?” Yuuri whined, heart pounding a bit faster. 

There was a period of silence before Yurio finally whipped around to face Yuuri, pointing one of his pale slender fingers right into Yuuri’s face. “But since you stole him away, you better do better at the Grand Prix Finals than that shit show today.” He turned his back to Yuuri then and started to trudge away. Throwing a single hand up. “Dasvidaniya.” 

Yuuri probably should have offered parting words, or at least thanks for his piroshkis, but honestly, he was too stunned to talk or move. 

Was what Yurio said true?

Why had he gone out of his way to cheer Yuuri up like that? 

Yuri Plisetsky is a strange man to be certain, but oddly in that moment, Yuuri felt incredibly grateful to have met him.

***

“Sir… Sir…” A gentle touch to Yuuri’s arm took his attention back from his reflection. He looked up at the raven-haired stewardess who smiled at him. “Is everything okay? You’re the last one.” 

Yuuri looked all around the plane in shock. He’d gotten so lost remembering the last few days, that he didn’t even realize all the patrons had deboarded the plane, including the couple from next to him. 

“Sorry,” Yuuri huffed. 

“Don’t worry. Can I help?”

Yuuri stood up and slid out of the row of seats. “I’ve got it. Thank you.” 

He made his way mindlessly off the plane and through the airport towards the train station terminal. He still had an hour and a half train ride to get back home, but that was fine because he really hadn’t sorted out everything he was going to say to Viktor when he saw him again just yet. Moreover, preparing just to look at Viktor was always a vast preparation in and of itself. The man was devastatingly beautiful. 

“Bork!” 

Yuuri noticed the way people were looking and staring our into the receiving area of the airport, a child in front of him seemed particularly excited. 

“Bork!” 

Yuuri looked over and experienced a flurry of about twelve emotions when he saw his favorite (living) fluffy, brown dog jump up on the glass wall. Then it hit Yuuri, and he looked over the dog, brown eyes locking into a pair of blue he’d missed even more than he realized. His body was acted on its own, carrying Yuuri down the hallway, moving faster and faster until he was in an all out sprint. He couldn’t bring himself to break eye contact with Viktor on the other side of the wall, running himself. Yurio’s words washed over Yuuri as he stared at a reflection of himself in Viktor looking just as desperate and anxious as Yuuri felt. 

The sliding glass doors out couldn’t open fast enough as Viktor held his arms out and embarrassment be damned, dozens of pairs of eyes watching be damned, as soon as those doors were wide enough for Yuuri to squeeze through, he bolted through, across the small aisle, and crashed into Viktor gripping him tightly and feeling the way Viktor held him as well. 

“Yuuri.” 

Yuuri’s heart was already racing at max speed, but when Viktor said his name again after not having heard it for a few days, it made his skin raise into goosebumps and sent chills down his spine. 

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what else I can do for you as your coach.” 

Yuuri hated feeling like his angst when they’d first arrived in Russia or his significantly worse On Ice performance made Viktor feel like he wasn’t doing all he could as a coach. That’s why, if anything, they’d probably do better if Viktor was the competitor, which of course Yuuri had already decided was what their future looked like. 

“Me too,” Yuuri responded. 

He mustered up all of his confidence, placed an arm on either side of Viktor and pushed him a few feet away. Were there people recording their interaction? Photos being taken that would inevitably be all over the internet before they even made it to the train? Check and check. But Yuuri didn’t care. He’d resolved to do it, and with Viktor standing in front of him and feeling like he had missed Yuuri as much as Yuuri missed him, just enough confidence had seeped through his pores to speak. 

“Please… Please be my coach until I retire!” 

A warm smile replaced the brief look of shock on Viktor’s face as he brought one of Yuuri’s hands to his mouth. He placed a kiss on Yuuri’s fingers that felt even more endearing to him than when he’d kissed him after his free program in China. 

With a small chuckle he met Yuuri’s gaze. “It’s almost like a marriage proposal.” Viktor’s voice was low, but it was filled with true joy. Yuuri did have spending the rest of their lives together in mind when he developed his plan. He threw himself back into another hug, holding on tight even through Maccachin’s incessant pawing at his leg for some attention of his own. “I wish you’d never retire.” 

That sentiment registered in the pit of Yuuri’s stomach and ricocheted out across his body. It eviscerated Yuuri’s doubt. The day was coming that he would no longer be able to call Viktor his coach, but Yuuri knew now that that had no bearing on whether or not he would remain at the man he was irrevocably in love with. 

The man that was irrevocably in love with him. 

“Let’s win the Grand Prix final together.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on the Tumblr @thejazthegr8. :)


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